Although this disc is not really jazz, and would be expensive at half the price, it merits a review in so far as Sweet, with astonishing prophetic foresight, has informed me that, having seen my horoscope, I would otherwise be outfitted for cement shoes in preparation for an attempted swim across Bass Strait.

Sweet and the boys take a breakbetween sets at the Arthur GargleCommemorative Hall in Galveston.

How he knows these things, blowed if I can tell; but, I’m blowed if I’m taking any chances after the demonstration he gave me just minutes ago. He came into my office and said: “Fings get broke.” And, sure enough, some big fool who happened to follow him in went and broke my right pinkie. “I fought you said ‘fings’,” I cried in dismay. “Fings, fingers. Bofe is plural. Break another, Hatchet.” “Do you know this gentleman?” I asked.

Anyhow, things continued thus for a while. And now I’m delighted to recommend this CD to the listening public. Buy it, take it home; listen to it if you must. But, for God’s sake, buy it!

(Lucky I write with my left hand.)

Frederick Bandersnatch threw himself into a vat of steaming stewed socks rather than comment on this recording.